


The Hardest Place To Be

by Orison



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Coda, Drama, Gen, Missing Scene, Missions Gone Wrong, Post-Episode: s01e01 Pilot, Survivor Guilt, season one Steve is so messed up my heart still aches for him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29293215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orison/pseuds/Orison
Summary: Short coda to the pilot. Following the events of the episode, this is my take on what Steve might have done during his first weekend back on the island.
Comments: 24
Kudos: 55





	The Hardest Place To Be

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Trying something different here. After watching the pilot for the 10000000 time a few weeks ago, I started to wonder what might’ve happened once the credit rolled. Steve has been back on the island for only a couple of days, just accepted a new job, put together a team, and killed the man responsible for his father’s death. Or so he thinks. They have beers together, he gifts Danny three nights at the Kahala so that he can spend quality time with Grace, and then… what? He’s alone, doesn’t yet think of these people as family, not to mention he’s haunted by the recent deaths of his best friend _and_ father. So what happens after they say goodbye? This fic picks up right after the episode ends. For the sake of narrative, I am imagining it’s a weekend. I tried to put myself in his shoes and imagine what he might’ve done. Turned out to be more complicated than I thought. LOL Forgetting everything we’ve learned about him in a decade and stripping him of all the progress he’s made wasn’t easy. At all. But that’s me, I like to complicate things. 
> 
> I’m also assuming there’s more than one bedroom on the first floor of the McGarrett house. John and Doris were lousy parents but I’m sure they gave each of their kids a place to sleep, and at least one of those two rooms had to be still there and taking dust in the pilot. This said, I hope you guys like it.
> 
> Title was inspired by the quote _‘Sometimes my mind is the hardest place to be’_ , which kind of matches Danny’s _‘Your brain must be a miserable place’_ statement.

***

_‘A few choice words can sometimes_  
 _be the life raft that gets you home._  
 _To be seen... to be found..._  
 _isn’t that what we’re all searching for?’_  
Evan ‘Buck’ Buckley, 911 - 3x03

***

_‘Get the package out of here, I got your six! Do the job!’_

_‘My job is not leaving anybody behind!’_

_‘I need you to do something for me. One day… tell my daughter… you tell my daughter that daddy loved her.’_

_‘You should get that. You don’t speak to your father nearly enough…’_

_‘You don’t think we’d do our homework on you?’_

_‘Are_ you _smart enough, Steve?’_

“Sir? We’re here.”

Steve flinched at the sudden voice, blinking as he got himself out of his reverie. The cab had just turned into the driveway, leaving behind the traffic of Kamehameha highway that had numbed his mind enough to let his thoughts wander.

“Thanks,” he said in a low monotone, handing his fare over to the driver before reaching across the seat to grab the duffel bag with his change of clothes and his prescriptions that had slid at the turn.

The taxi rolled up, coming to a stop in front of the old wooden gate, and another realization hit him. 

If he was going to live on the island and chase criminals, he needed a car. 

He also needed to renew his driver’s license, buy civilian clothes and stock on food that didn’t need to withstand a parachute drop.

But most of all, he needed his dad back.

Fighting another wave of grief, Steve climbed out of the vehicle and slowly got to his feet, feeling the weariness of the last few days hit him full force. Still banged up from his fight with Hesse, left arm in a sling, he bit on his bottom lip when his back and legs protested at the movement and slung the bag over his uninjured shoulder. 

He had debated whether or not to stay at a hotel considering the house was still a mess and possibly still a crime scene, and eventually decided to head there anyway. 

His father’s murder had left him with more questions than answers and a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach but with some luck, the man responsible for it had become fish food at the bottom of the ocean and that part of the investigation was over. Or so he hoped. 

A strip of crime scene tape hung by the front door, flapping in the ocean breeze. It was another reminder of the tragedy that had unfolded within those walls, changing his life forever.

Steve retrieved the key he had found in an old planter by the back door and let himself into the house.

The overwhelming guilt that had assaulted him when he’d heard the sound of Victor Hesse’s gun threatened to choke him again as soon as he opened the door. With no partner to impress and no teammates to lead, it was free to wreak havoc on his already messed-up psyche. Even if he and his dad weren’t close his violent death had deeply affected him, and the echo of that gunshot still ricocheted inside his head.

Dropping the duffel bag unceremoniously to the floor, Steve stood in the middle of the living room, staring at the mess he had yet to clean up. 

Books and papers that were once stacked neatly on the desk and coffee table, scattered all over the floor. Overturned drawers. Red spatters on the wall and bloodstains on the floorboards. The broken chair — the one they’d sat his father in before pulling the trigger— he couldn’t even look at.

Letting out a breath that sounded more like a sob Steve hung his head, running a hand over his face. His gaze landed on one of the pictures that had fallen to the ground during the struggle. His dad in uniform, proudly standing by his squad car. The frame was broken, the glass shattered beyond repair. 

He crouched to pick it up and stared at it. 

Eighteen years. 

He had spent more than half his life away from home, nursing resentment for the man who was supposed to love him but had sent him away. And now it was too late to say he was sorry, too late to fix what he had messed up, too late to get to know the cop smiling back at him from the ruined picture. 

Now, ghosts were all he had left. 

Steve rose slowly to his feet, his eyes fixing on a second picture. John and his fellow officers staring directly into the camera, chests puffed, the love for their uniforms clearly plastered on their faces. It was still on the wall but completely covered in blood, just like his dad’s police trophies, the clock and the lamp sitting directly below it. 

His jaw clenched, right hand curling into a fist at his side.

He took an unconscious step backwards, hearing the crunch under his foot as his boot crushed one of the already broken pieces of John’s favorite mug. As a kid, back when his life was normal, he had seen him drink out of it countless times while reading his morning paper or talking on the phone.

They were a family back then. Not a perfect one, but there was love and beach days and pancakes for breakfast every Sunday. 

April 19th, 1992 had changed everything. 

Not even 24 hours after burying his mother, he had come home from school to find out he was going to be shipped off to the mainland like a parcel to attend the Army and Navy Academy, a school that someone else had chosen for him. His dad was breaking up the family on the premise that it wasn’t safe for them to live there anymore without even giving him a chance to reply.

He had hated him in that moment, hated everything about that first week away from home, including the relentless bullying a few other kids put him through. 

In a dumb teenage move he still regretted to this day, he had tried to fix all of that by stealing a car to get the hell out of there and back to Hawaii. It wasn’t one of his brightest moment, but it only earned him a warning and served as a turning point to get his life back on track.

Year after year, mission after mission, he had learned to push his feelings into a dark, remote corner of his mind and become the best soldier he could be to serve his country and the people who had given him a home. He had found a surrogate dad in his commanding officer, Joe White, and pretended to forget all about his real family.

What good had that done?

Now he had a sister he hardly knew, and questions he’d probably never find the answers to.

_‘I’m sorry that I lied to you...’_

What secrets was his father hiding?

What danger had forced him to send his kids away?

Steve would’ve never left the island if it wasn’t for him, never joined the Navy and agree to be deployed wherever they needed him. He would’ve celebrated holidays and birthdays instead of dreading them because he had no one to spend them with. Probably majored in science and kept playing guitar despite that little setback during his tenth-grade talent show.

That day in April had turned him into the man he was today, but he was just now beginning to understand that his dad had been a victim of it too. For different reasons, with different results, John McGarrett had been plagued by the same incident. And instead of being there for him Steve had stayed away, risking his life in remote locations around the world that cellphones couldn’t reach.

His shoulders slumped at the realization and he bent over, bracing his hands on his thighs.

Standing in the exact spot where his father had died, mind still reeling from the events of the last few days, Steve felt sick to his stomach at all the missed opportunities, all the times he could have come home and didn’t, the hugs he never gave him in favor of cold handshakes and the precious hours he wasted being mad at him for something a sixteen-year-old couldn’t fully understand.

His shoulder throbbed in sync with his heartbeat, a steady ache caused by the same gun that had made him an orphan. He allowed it, ignoring the pills sitting in his duffel bag and moving instead towards John’s desk where more details grabbed his attention.

The derby cars. His father’s hobby. 

Pictures of himself as a kid on the desk and the bureau behind it. 

Steve’s uninjured arm rose, his hand squeezing the back of his neck. 

_‘I love you, son. I didn’t say it enough…’_

His heart still ached at the words he had rarely, if ever, heard from his dad. 

John didn’t talk much and displayed affection even less. That’s why Steve had immediately stood on alert when he’d heard that. 

One memory stirred another. And another, and suddenly he was back in South Korea, panting hard after coming out of the overturned truck, staring in shock at Anton Hesse’s body awkwardly propped against a barbed-wire fence. 

He heard the man’s last gurgle, saw the blood coming out of his mouth before he stilled, eyes still half open, and felt the gut-wrenching fear at the thought of what that death meant. 

Next came the shrill of his cellphone, the way his hand shook as he hit ‘answer’ and put it to his ear, the words caught in his throat as he tried to explain… and then the gunshot, replaying over and over again.

Shaking his head as if that alone could chase the memories away, he fled through the kitchen and out the back door, finding himself in the garage. There, amidst the tools and the clutter of his old man’s workplace sat his pride and joy, the 1968 Mercury Marquis, a restoration project that they barely got to tackle together. 

The sight brought back another flashback from his childhood days. 

His six-year-old self standing by his father’s side as they stared at the old car.

_‘What do you say, Steve, you like it? We’re going to fix her together and when the time comes, she’s gonna be yours, okay?’_

John had tried to keep his promise at first, devoting weekends and holidays to the task. He painstakingly worked leaning under the opened hood while Steve watched, occasionally passing him tools, and listened as he described each piece. But there was always a case, someone who needed help, and soon he’d started spending those weekends at the precinct or glued to his desk, so bent on chasing his enemies that he forgot about everything else. He probably thought there would be plenty of time to finish it, just like Steve thought he had his whole senior year to break his football records before tragedy hit. 

The tarp was still partially rolled back from when he had first looked at it the day he’d come back. 

Steve opened the driver’s side door and slid into the seat.

In his hand, the tape recorder that he had found inside the champ box. His father’s voice had filled the silence as soon as he’d pressed play, but Steve hadn’t gotten past the first few words before hastily reaching for the stop button. Part of him longed to hear his dad’s voice, listen to what he had to say and maybe find some clue. The other part, the one still reeling from the trauma, painfully reminded him he wasn’t ready. Still, he kept the recorder close, waiting for the ‘right’ moment he knew would never come.

He had chased the Hesse brothers around the world, but at what cost? The loss of his best friend and father in the span of a few weeks. While he’d never questioned his loyalty to the Navy before, he was now beginning to wonder if it had been worth it. Freddie had sacrificed himself so he could bring Anton to justice, and the man had died a few hours later. Victor’s bullet-ridden body had fallen off the ship into the churning ocean. Whatever hope they had of gathering intel and dismantling terrorist organizations had died with them. 

Was the job worth losing all the people he cared about?

There was an emptiness in his heart, a sense of not belonging anywhere that also made him question his decision to stay on the island and lead the task force. 

Was he truly ready for something like this?

_‘Steve... in a couple of years, you’re gonna be 18. And pretty soon, you’re gonna need to decide what kind of man you are.’_

What kind of man was he?

Who had he become?

A high-end, military-trained assassin who could assemble his rifle in thirty seconds in the dark and never voiced his needs.

An empty shell nobody cared for. 

_‘Your brain must be a miserable place,’_ his new partner had told him. 

He didn’t know the half of it.

_Partner._

The word still sounded foreign to his ears.

He’d had men under his command, brothers to fight along with, and none of them had ever questioned his decisions or doubt his abilities.

Danny Williams had made it clear he wasn’t going to take his crap the second they’d met. 

With his defiant stance and his cocky attitude, the loudmouthed cop from New Jersey who lived out of a suitcase in a crappy motel room had both surprised him and earned his respect in less than a day. 

Tanaka, Danny’s Captain at HPD, had given him a year before he quit the force. In his opinion, a detective with a bad temper who refused to conform to what was expected of him wasn’t going to last. Steve, on the other hand, had seen something that had drawn him to Danny. And standing by the blond’s sofa bed staring at the empty six packs and old takeouts, he had decided Williams was the best person to complement his no-nonsense, matter-of-fact mindset and his non-cop approach to cases and suspects. 

Where that would lead them, Steve had no idea, but his gut kept telling him he’d made the right decision, just like when he had asked Chin Ho Kelly to join the team and trusted him when he’d recommended his young cousin for the undercover job. 

Somewhere, on a deep level, he felt that he could trust these people. 

On and off the job. 

Hopefully, time would prove him right. 

Exhaling a long, shaky breath, Steve dropped his forehead to the steering wheel and closed his eyes. 

Weariness had started to settle into his joints after the adrenaline spike of the last few days. Now that he’d finally stopped long enough to catch his breath, he was suddenly exhausted. But that was just the tip of the iceberg. Below the surface, other feelings were battling for attention: anger, guilt, and even a hint of fear. Feelings he wanted to ignore but couldn’t, flaws and failures he couldn’t admit out loud or share with his new team. If he did, they’d never trust him as a leader. So he had put on his game face —that rough, unbreakable exterior he wore so convincingly well— and powered through the challenge like he had every other in his life.

They had told him that acclimating back into civilian life wasn’t easy. Many of his fellow soldiers had tried and failed, especially high-end operators like himself who experienced all the worst humanity had to offer and lost themselves when they no longer had a purpose.

Steve was very aware of the demons already haunting him, but was positive he wouldn’t end up losing his mind or eating his gun in the middle of the night, although the mere thought of having a whole weekend to himself was enough to make his skin crawl.

Two full days to fill with… what? 

All he knew, all he had breathed was the Navy, and after serving his country for so long he had no idea how he was going to fare in the real world, dealing with everyday tasks he’d never had to worry about before. 

But that was for another day. Right now, the only thing his tired brain could focus on was the guilt over his father’s death and the evidence John had left for him in the champ box.

***

An hour later, when even sitting in the Marquis turned out to be more of a nightmare than a relief, Steve reigned his demons in, pulled the tarp back over the car and got out of the garage as fast as he could.

Back into the kitchen, he grabbed a Longboard from the fridge and popped it open, downing half of it in one go. His stomach grumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten all day. He paid no attention to it, staring out at the backyard instead and feeling the pull of the water drawing him in. 

He had missed the ocean so much. The smell of it, the feel of the salt drying on his skin, the lush vegetation that surrounded the private strip of beach. It all felt like home. So many times during his deployments and missions, as he lay prone on the ground looking at the world through the scope of his rifle, Steve had wished he was back there. Imagining the waves rolling in and the wet sand under his feet made him forget all about the desert sand sticking to his sweaty face and uniform, keeping him sane.

He had learned to swim on that beach. 

To spearfish. 

He’d built sand castles with Mary and collected shells for his mother. 

As Hesse’s shot echoed once again in Steve’s mind, he tightened the grip on his beer and headed outside, stopping briefly by one of the Adirondack chairs to set down the bottle and take off his boots and socks. 

Gaze steady towards the horizon, he started moving without even realizing it, wading in until he was knee deep into the water.

It was all it took to replace chaos with calm. 

A look of pure bliss lit up his face, making his lips curl into a smile.

This was where he belonged. 

The very place he had spent so much time running away from. 

If he wasn’t injured, he would’ve dived right in to swim until his muscles ached. Instead he dropped down into one of the chairs, took a long pull from his beer and let the sounds, the smells and the night breeze wash over him.

He thought of Freddie again, of the little girl who would never know her dad because of his failure, vowing to go back to North Korea to bring him back. Of his mom, who used to teach him magic tricks and made the best bologna sandwiches. And Danny, enjoying his time at the Kahala Hotel with his precious daughter Steve had yet to meet but already considered lucky for having a father willing to leave everything behind just to be near her.

When he came back to the present, a quick check at his watch told him it was close to eleven. He rubbed tiredly at his eyes, hissing as he hit a bruise, and buried his face in his hands. 

Loneliness tugged at his heart. 

Over time, he had learned how to cope with it and lessen the pain but it was always there in the background, squeezing his heart and chest like a vice. A slow, lethal poison for the soul.

Steve thought of himself as a good person. He always tried to make the right choices and care for people to the best of his ability. And yet he could count on one hand the meaningful relationships in his life. 

People came and went, stomping on his heart before walking out. It was a life lesson he had learned when he was sixteen. That the people he truly loved didn’t stay. And that even if they loved him, it wasn’t enough to keep him around. 

He had been abandoned, lied to, betrayed. 

As a result, he had never learned how to let people in, keep someone close, and even ask for help when he needed it.

It wasn’t easy to understand, and even more difficult to explain. 

Only those who had experienced it could relate to it.

As if on cue, his cell phone beeped. 

It was a text from Mary.

_‘Sorry I missed dad’s funeral’_

Steve stared at the device, unsure of what to say back. The last time he had seen his sister was the day of their mom’s funeral. She had grown up away from home, without a male figure, no doubt feeling just as abandoned and worthless as Steve had. It wasn’t surprising she’d turned to drugs to numb the pain.

His fingers started typing, then deleting, then typing again. 

When was the last time he’d told her that he loved her? 

_‘I love you, Mare,’_ he eventually wrote. _‘We’re going to get through this.’_

She was his only family now, all he had left. 

Maybe he should’ve added he was staying on the island and that she should come visit. 

He looked at the text he had sent until the words started blurring and all he could see was a patch of white in the dark of night, not entirely surprised that she hadn’t said ‘I love you’ back. 

The throbbing in his shoulder intensified, telling him that it was time to rest.

As much as he hated it, in order to do that he needed to take something for the pain.

Walking on limbs that felt like they didn’t really belong, each step a negotiation rather than an order, he left his peaceful spot by the ocean and sluggishly crossed the backyard and the lanai to get back into the house. 

Everything hurt, every damn muscle he had over abused in the last few days. 

His prescription bottle was still sitting in the duffel bag by the front door. Steve hated those pills. They upset his stomach and made him drowsy, so he searched the kitchen cabinets and replaced them with some ibuprofen, downing it with a glass of water before heading upstairs. 

There would be nightmares, he knew, but he hoped to get at least a few hours of sleep in between.

***

A few hours of sleep turned out to be the best-case scenario.

Reality mocked those expectations and barely granted him two. 

Unwilling to spend the night in the master bedroom surrounded by the ghosts of his parents, Steve had once again chosen his old room and the twin bed he barely fit in. Laying on top of the covers, surrounded by his dust-covered awards and certificates of achievement, he’d tossed and turned until his body had succumbed to exhaustion.

Only to awake with a start a short while later, screaming his father’s name and covered in sweat. 

After that, he had stared at the ceiling until the first rays of light had streamed through the window. 

Eager to do as much as he could with the ridiculous amount of free hours awaiting him, he made a mental list of the most important things and by the time the clock struck 12pm he had already met the Governor to discuss the details of their agreement and sign some paperwork, stocked the fridge and pantry, and bought himself a brand-new Silverado truck.

At 2pm, Steve was ready to climb the walls so he resorted to do the one thing he had put off since he’d first set foot into the house three days before: cleaning up the crime scene in the living room.

A thorough search of the garage produced a couple of empty boxes that he filled with all the documents, pictures and various papers that had been haphazardly thrown to the ground. 

He would sort through them later. 

Or never.

Task completed, he took care of the things that had been irreparably damaged, collecting them in three different thrash bags that he regretfully tossed outside. 

He was scrubbing his father’s blood off the wall when his phone rang. 

It startled him out of the dark, guilt-ridden place his mind had gone to as he worked and he froze for a second before taking off his right glove and retrieving it from his pants’ pocket.

On the screen, in bright white letters, the last name he expected to see. Danny Williams. 

A flicker of panic coursed through him at the thought that something had gone wrong with the reservation at the hotel. The gift had been a thank you for getting him shot and putting up with his non-conventional manners, but he had also really wanted to impress Danny so that he’d stick around. 

“Hey,” he said in his best nonchalant tone, as if his hands weren’t stained in red and he was just lounging in the sun.

“Hey,” Danny echoed, his voice warm and friendly.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to thank you again for doing this for me... for us.” 

After their explosive first meeting when they’d pointed guns at each other and later that day after getting punched in the face, Steve had started to wonder if Danny could become a friend. Someone he could talk to, have a beer with and maybe share a joke.

“No need to, man. I was happy to do it,” he said with genuine affection. “Where’s Grace?”

“She’s down for a nap. Too much excitement for one morning.”

Steve had no idea if children normally took naps in the afternoon, but he hoped that meant she had a good time. 

“She liked it?”

“She lik— are you kidding me? She loved it! I think I scored some major dad points thanks to you so, uh... thank you.” 

Hearing Danny talk excitedly about spending time with his daughter made him smile and miss his dad at the same time, wishing John had cared about him like Danny cared about Grace. 

He briefly took the phone away from his ear and sighed in regret. 

No wonder one of the things that had drawn him to Danny was his parenting skills.

What did surprise him was the question that came next.

“Hey, you, uh... wanna join us tomorrow?”

_What?_

Steve stared at the bloodied rag clutched in his left hand, biting his bottom lip. 

_No, Danny, it’s_ your _time with her. I don’t belong there,_ was the first thought crossing through his mind. _You should enjoy every second of it. God knows how important it is._

He would’ve loved to say yes, desperate as he was to connect with another human being, but the soldier in him quickly overruled the idea, reminding him that as much as he liked his new partner, he really didn’t know him enough to trust him yet.

His only focus right now needed to be his father’s murder. 

The truth about what had really happened, and what mysteries he’d left for him to solve.

He exhaled loudly, failing to realize that those thoughts were just a defense mechanism brought on by years of trauma that was making him keep everyone at arm’s length even if he didn’t really mean to. 

“Thanks, but... I’ve got plans.” 

There he was again, pretending not to care. Starved for affection, he was always quick to love and slow to judge, and had been screwed up one too many times for caring too much.

There was a moment of silence at the other end of the line, and Steve shook his head in frustration. 

Danny had probably called his bullshit again. 

“Alright. Guess I’ll see you on Monday.” 

He wanted to say something, anything not to sever the conversation. Despite what his traumatized brain had led him to believe and the walls he’d built around his heart, he felt a connection to Danny, and had unconsciously latched on to him to get through some of the most difficult days of his life. 

“You alright?” Danny added. “You sound weird.”

Steve sucked in a harsh breath like he’d been punched in the stomach, not used to people caring about him. “Yeah,” he replied, chastising himself for doing once again the opposite of what he needed. “Bye, Danny.”

“Bye.”

He dropped the bloodied rag into the bucket at his feet and sat down on the recliner, rubbing his temple in a vain attempt to ward off the headache that was beginning to settle in.

The Governor was counting on him to lead a task force and lower the crime rate on the island. Full immunity and means, full blanket authority, no red tape. He had taken the job, fueled by the need to be the one to solve his father’s murder, but for how long? 

Months, years... he really couldn’t say. 

He had never stayed somewhere long enough to settle. All he knew were ships, military bases and hostile territories. Now there were people in his life he genuinely liked, and a job that sounded challenging as much as it was exciting. 

Maybe the idea of becoming friends with these people wasn’t so far-fetched.

He looked around, at the neat living room that bore almost no trace of the violence it had witnessed. 

A long time ago, Hawaii used to be his home. 

With a bit of luck, he’d find something to convince him to stay so that it would feel like that again.

THE END


End file.
